


Of a Dog And a Cat

by CameronBlacksReads



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Biting, Bottom Dean Winchester, Eventual Smut, Fluff, M/M, Mentions of Death, Mentions of PTSD, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, Pets, Rimming, Rough Sex, Top Castiel (Supernatural), Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, familiar!Cas, human!AU, mentions of depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:14:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22775467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CameronBlacksReads/pseuds/CameronBlacksReads
Summary: Dean was never an animal person. But when he meets a puppy in need, he can't help but save her, and in turn she saves him.Eleven years later, Dean needs saving once again, but this time, its a little black cat who does it, and Dean can't get enough. Maybe this cat is what Dean needs to turn his life around. Maybe this cat will give Dean more than he ever thought he needed.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 14
Kudos: 156





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey friends! This is something that has been brewing for a while, so I'd love to know what you think. There will be eventual Destiel, but it takes us a while to get there.
> 
> TW: In this first chapter, there are mentions of how Dean is depressed and suicidal, but there is nothing graphic. Stay safe kids!
> 
> This is unbeta'd, so all mistakes are my own. Critiques are welcome.

Dean got Bella when she was barely eight weeks old. He was outside, walking around the park and trying to help alleviate what he had decided to be a pretty bad depressive episode. The fresh air and sunshine weren't helping like the website said they would. Dean was feeling pretty low, and he wasn't sure if he could keep doing this, whatever  _ this _ was.

Sammy had just gone off to his first semester at college, and so Dean had moved out. He got the hell out of John Winchester's house and out from under his abusive thumb the second that he didn't have to worry about leaving Sam there. Dean knew that leaving was the right thing to do, he really did. But he still felt immeasurable amounts of guilt almost every minute of every day. There was part of him that knew that John would have killed him eventually if he stayed in that house. But there was another part of him that thought he was ungrateful, disgusting, a disappointment, a waste, a monstrosity and every other nasty thing that John had called him over the years. The latter was the voice that was getting stronger by the day. It was exhausting, caring around that kind of self-loathing while pretending that he was fine. 

Dean was walking around the park, thinking that maybe it was too exhausting to put up with this world that kept hurting and that maybe he should just give up, when he saw the van. It was a white van, the kind with no windows that kids know to look out for because they undoubtedly were hiding sketchy and dangerous people in them. Dean knew that anyone, even completely normal people, could own this type of van, but his inner child told him that this van was bad news, and his inner big brother told him that there was protecting to be done. So Dean found a bench with a good view of the van, and sat down.

_ I must really be going crazy. Only crazy people stalk random white vans for no reason at all. _ But even with that thought, Dean continued his watch. He sat on that bench for a little more than twenty minutes, longer than it would have taken him to walk around the park, when he finally spotted movement.

A short woman stepped out of the van and brushed off her too-tight tacky purple blouse and her worn blue jeans. From where he stood, Dean had trouble discerning if the woman was 30 or 60, but he decided that either way, life had not been kind to her. Or maybe she hadn't been kind to it, he couldn't decide. Either way, it was obvious in the way her shoulders slumped and the fact that something about her body language hinted that she was perpetually angry.

The woman leaned in to the still open driver’s side door and pulled something out. It was long, silver, and thin, with a bigger circular part at the top, but that was all Dean could make out from his vantage point. He decided to take note of everything about the object, because he decided that it was the murder weapon and the police would need to know as much as they could.

Just as Dean suspected, the woman raised the object high above her head, and stabbed it straight into the ground, effectively murdering at least half a dozen blades of grass. Dean released a breath he didn't realize he was holding.  _ Thank god I don't have to testify in a murder trial. _

The woman walked around the back of the van and opened it. In the next several minutes, Dean watched as the woman brought out tons of dogs, at least a dozen of them by the end of it, and tied their leashes to the stake (a.k.a. the murder weapon). By the time it seemed like not another leash could fit on the stake, the woman closed the back, and opened the side door. With this door now open, Dean counted at least five sickly puppies.

No one had ever called Dean an animal person. Cats made him sneeze, dogs tracked mud everywhere, and he considered everything else to be a wild animal that did not need to share his home with him. But when Dean saw all of those dogs, some of them obviously sick, and way too many for this woman to effectively take care of, he couldn't help himself. He stood up and marched over to the woman and her band of dogs.

The woman saw him approaching and before he could start yelling at her, she said "Hey hun. See any you like? You could have any one of these beauties for $150." Her voice sounded as if someone accidentally dumped a pound of sugar into a glass of lemonade and then let it sit out in the sun. Dean only liked lemonade when it was cold and sour. 

Dean considered his options. He knew he could not leave these innocent, defenseless creatures in the obviously inadequate care of this woman, but he also didn’t think he could take all of them.  _ Maybe _ , he thought,  _ I’ll just take the weakest one, get that one all healthy, and call the cops for the rest. _

He decided that the puppies were probably the weakest, so he walked over there. He looked at all of them, when he noticed a tiny black and brown one, that was much smaller than the rest. He picked it up and brought it over to the woman. 

“I’d like this one, please,” he said as confidently as he could. 

“Trust me sugar, you don’t want that one. She’s sick, not to mention the runt of the litter. I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t even make it through the night.” The woman did not seem at all saddened by the grim statement she had just made, just frustrated. 

“No, I’m sure I want this one,” Dean insisted, ever the stubborn one. 

The woman sighed. “Okay,” she said it in a singsong voice, like she thought Dean was making a dumb decision “I won’t even charge you for her. Her name is Bella. Good luck.” Dean walked away, cradling Bella delicately in his arms. Before he left the park, he wrote down the license plate of the van and dialed his local police station. 

Dean and Bella got back to his apartment and jumped right in Baby. Dean usually had a no dog policy, but he was already falling in love with this little girl (not that he would tell anyone that, of course). He drove to his local pet store and let his mind wander along the way. 

An hour ago, Dean was seriously contemplating suicide, but now he was responsible for another living creature. Dean would never abandon someone in need, be them a person or a dog. Dean decided then and there that if Bella pulled through and got healthy again, then he wouldn’t kill himself. He knew that was a lot for this puppy to carry, especially when she could barely carry her own body weight, but that was the best he could manage for the time being. 

When Dean got to the pet store, and started running around like a chicken with his head cut off. He was completely overwhelmed, and decided to just buy everything he thought a dog could need. He grabbed bowls, a leash, a collar, some pee pads, and some puppy food. He brought his giant pile up to the counter when he realized that Bella might not be able to eat in her condition. He asked the person behind the counter if she had any advice for helping a sick puppy. 

Boy did she ever. She grabbed a bottle and some formula in case Bella couldn’t eat solid food. She also got Dean some pet-friendly cleaning products for any accidents that Bella had. Lastly, she brought over an armful of stuffed animals. 

“Um,” Dean awkwardly began, “I don’t think I can afford all of this.” He rubbed his neck with the hand that wasn’t holding a sleeping Bella, and avoided eye contact. 

“Don’t worry,” the woman smiled, “I’ll give you a huge discount, and the toys and formula are on the house. It’s my place, after all, so I can do what I want.”

Dean was awed, and he might have had his mouth hanging open dumbly. 

“Thank you. So much,” he said. He hated charity, but Bella was an unforeseen expense and so he took it. 

“Don’t mention it. Just make sure to bring that little baby back when she’s all better, and I’ll consider it a fair trade.”

Dean brought all the supplies and Bella back to his apartment, and got ready for what he was sure was going to be a long haul. 

———

Dean rigorously nursed Bella for two weeks. He brought her to work every day so that he could take care of her. His boss, Bobby, was not at all pleased with this development, saying a car repair shop was no place for a dog. But when Dean explained that she would stay in the car, and when he took Bobby out to see her, there was no way the old man could say no. 

So Dean checked on her every 30 minutes for two weeks. He got very little sleep or work done, but his mind was occupied and he wasn’t suicidal. He was still depressed, but it wasn’t so bad. 

After two weeks, Bella seemed a lot better. The change was overnight, and suddenly Dean had a whole new dog. She started exploring his apartment, wanting to go on walks, and wanting to play. 

Bella was quite a handful once she really came into her own. She had endless energy and she turned out to be quite the barker. With enough play time and training, though, Dean found that both of those problems were very manageable. 

———

After Bella started showing signs of improvement, Dean realized that his depression was really a problem. So, he did something he never thought he would do; he asked for help. He started regularly seeing a therapist and working through his issues. He did very well with it, too. He worked hard and was honest about his feelings, for once. That's not to say that he liked going to therapy and thinking critically about himself and his actions, but he did it anyways, because he knew that was best for him.

Dean also started exercising. Growing up, he was an active kid, but he never made a real, conscious effort to get fit. That was just what happened when you were a competitive young boy with a ton of extra energy to burn off. But then he grew out of his bouncing off the wall stage in life, and got depressed, so exercise wasn't top priority.

So Dean surprised himself once again; he started running. Sam gave him so much shit, but Dean gave him the excuse that Bella needed more than just a walk around the park to stay healthy. And while this was true, Bella seemed to be growing into her energetic phase and not out of it, Dean also decided that it was high time he started taking care of himself. No, Dean did not forgo his burgers and beer, but at least he was burning it off now, and it wasn't taking up permanent residence in his abdominal area.

Dean and Bella were inseparable. She came to work with Dean every day, and made her own little spot in the corner of Bobby's shop. She always rode shotgun in Baby. Bella also laid her claim on the better part of three quarters of Dean's king sized bed, which many people found infinitely funny. Sam contemplated how Dean could be whipped by a dog of all things. Dean subtly forgot to mention the cuddle fests that they had together. Several of Dean's sexual partners were very put off by the fact that Bella had just as much reign over the apartment (and then the house that the two of them later moved into) as Dean did. Others, though, fell in love with Bella and not with Dean. Not that Dean could blame them; who wouldn't fall in love with the world's cutest puppy? 

———

They were really great together. They loved each other so much, and they helped each other through everything. Every time Dean had an episode, or what his therapist called a PTSD flashback, Bella was there, letting him hold on to her fur. When Bella tore her ACL, Dean did everything he could to help her feel better. It was wonderful.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

When Bella was eleven when she got lymphoma. The doctors said there wasn't much they could do for her, and Dean wouldn't subject Bella to the vets that she hated so much. So Dean looked up someone who would put her down in his home, and he fed her bacon and ham until the time came.

Bella went easily and fairly quickly, but Dean swears it would have been quicker if Dean's stubbornness hadn't rubbed off on her. The woman gave Dean her condolences, and even shed a few tears for Bella, and then they both carried her out.

Dean vaguely recalls the woman telling him about Bella's remains, but not really. In reality, he was just counting down the seconds until this woman was out of his house.

When she finally did leave Dean lost his shit. Completely. And he did it in a way that only Dean could. He was screaming and crying and beating the shit out of everything. There was this old birdbath in the backyard that he had been meaning to get rid of, so he ran over to it.

Dean had found an old baseball bat when he was moving, and he grabbed it now, and started hitting the birdbath with it, hard. He had no real, coherent thoughts at this point, except that that birdbath needed to die and he was going to do the deed. His vision blurred with tears, and he kept smashing until little bits of concrete were scattered all throughout his yard.

———

Dean went to work early the next morning, hoping that today would be a good day. He rubbed his lower back a little as he stepped out of the impala. He sauntered into the shop, heading over to the car he was working on last, when he stopped short. There, in the back of the shop, was Bella's corner. 

Shit, this is going to be harder than I thought. Dean sighed, and resigned himself to the fact that he would see Bella everywhere, and he would just have to deal with it. He walked over to her corner and painstakingly piled all of Bella's things — her toys, water bowl, blankets, and things that she had just picked up — and brought them all to the impala. He opened the back door and threw everything in haphazardly, resolved to deal with it later, eventually, maybe.

Dean walked back into the garage, and found the old radio that he always listens to as he worked. When he found the old rock station that he usually listened to, he turned the volume as loud as it can go without blowing out the speakers.

Dean worked like that for a while, just letting his busy hands and the loud music distract him from everything that he is feeling. And he was very efficient like this, because he wasn't stopping to let himself think, or feel, or anything besides work. It was just a formula that Dean followed, allowing his mind to go blank.

In the back of his mind, Dean registered the fact that a car was pulling in. The rumble was deep, the kind that resonates in one’s stomach. Dean braced himself for the inevitable uncomfortable conversation that he was about to have.

"Hey there, brotha," Benny greeted entirely too cheerily, given the early hour.

Dean just grunted by way of response. Now, everyone knew that Dean was far from a morning person, but he usually at least responded, even if it was just to tell whoever he was talking to to fuck off. Everyone also knew that Dean was not a quiet person, contrary to the behavior he was exhibiting. He looked around the garage, and noticed that Bella wasn't running up to greet him. Benny looked over at her corner, and saw that all her stuff was gone. He stood there, wondering what was up, before his eyes widened in understanding.

Benny decided to just let Dean be Dean, and he didn't bring up Bella. He just got to work. When Bobby, then Aaron, and then Garth came in, Benny just told them what he figured out, and left Dean to work.

Everyone was upset. Bella had become a fixture in the shop, and they didn't know how to handle it without her. Garth even cried a little.

———

Over the next few days Dean kept working furiously, and everyone was annoyingly nice to him. He did eventually work up the nerve to call Sam and tell him. Sam chastised him for waiting a whole three days before calling, but Dean just said that he had never been good with death. 

After a week and a half, people stopped coddling Dean, but he didn’t stop moping. Moping, being working his ass off until he couldn’t stand on his feet anymore, and then promptly passing out. 

His friends started to worry about him. Sam called him and used that special voice that he used when he was concerned about Dean’s mental health, and his safety. Dean just rudely assured him that he was fine, thank you very much. Eventually, people started to get very annoyed with him and his surly mood that just refused to go away. God, everyone experienced loss, why did Dean get to have a harder time than everyone else?

At some point, just working late wasn’t enough to distract Dean from his feelings, so one night he went to Bobby’s office.

“Bobby,” Dean said and he barged in his office door without permission, “I need something to do. Do you have any paperwork or anything that I could take home with me?” Dean practically rolled his eyes even though he was the only one who spoke.

“Dean,” Bobby sighed, leaning back in his chair.

“What.” The younger man growled through gritted teeth. Bobby just glared at Dean, and he at least had the decency to look sorry.

“This ain’t gonna work. You can’t just keep drowning yourself in work until you can’t function anymore. No, I don’t have any paperwork for you. In fact, I think, you need to take the next three days off and just live with your feelings.”

“But-“

“No, boy. You need to go home now, Dean. If you keep this up much longer, you’re gonna get hurt on that job and you won’t be no good to nobody. So go home, and if I see you back here before Tuesday, so help me God.” Bobby set his jaw, crossed his arms, and raised an eyebrow, daring Dean to challenge him.

Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath, before turning and walking out of Bobby’s office. Goddam, he really didn’t want to go home to an empty house, but he couldn’t very well tell Bobby “no” so he just packed up his stuff. He did it as slowly as he could, even though he knew he was just being childish.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean tried his damndest to make the most of this unexpected time off. He went to the grocery store and picked up some ingredients for some recipes that he wanted to try. Then he went to a diner that he had also been meaning to try for a long time, but that he had never gotten around to. I guess that’s just life for ya, Dean thought, it gets in the way of the little things. 

When Dean was on maybe his fifth or maybe tenth beer (he had stopped counting a while ago), he decided that this wasn’t so bad. He could handle staying alone and getting drunk, maybe jacking off before bed, which he hadn’t done in a while. He could bake pies and work on his lawn and get all the things done that he never got the chance to. Maybe he would even go for a ru-

No! He shook himself out of it. He would not go for a run. Runs were for him and Bella, and no matter how much it looked like it, this was not the beginning of another depressive episode. Fuck no its not. This is the healthiest mental state I’ve ever been in! I’m doing great! On that note...

“Barkeep!” he yelled in the direction of a cute, short, curvy black woman who was slightly older that was currently talking to another guy at the end of the bar. Hearing yelling from that direction, she walked over to Dean and raised her eyebrows. “Another round if ya please!”

“Honey, I told you the last round was it for you. Don’t you remember that?” She answered with a slight southern drawl.

Dean furrowed his brow and pursed his lips, suddenly very confused. “Guess I don’. But tha’s alright. I swear to God I’m sober enough for one more.”

“Nah, sugar. Let me call you a cab, get you back home. Seems you’ve had a rough go of it lately. How’s that?” the woman asked sweetly.

“Mmmm” was all that Dean could manage.

So the bartender called him a cab, and when Dean pulled out his wallet to pay his tab, she took out his driver’s license and wrote down his address. Dean was so busy fumbling with the cash to come up with the right amount, that he didn’t even notice. When the cab came, Dean slumped in the backseat, and the bartender gave the cab driver the slip of paper with his address on it. Dean must have fallen asleep for the drive home, because the next thing he knew the driver was shaking him awake. Dean managed to pull a twenty out of his wallet and shove it at the driver, before practically falling out of the cab. He walked into his house and pulled his boots off, before going up to his room and collapsing into bed.

——— 

The next morning Dean woke up and felt like death himself. His mouth was all weird and fuzzy and it tasted bad, and his head hurt like a bitch. He shuffled out of bed and down the stairs to the kitchen. He grabbed four Aleve and a glass of water and downed it all. Then, he dragged himself over to his couch and turned on the tv, puting Dr. Sexy, MD on. He watched for a while, and eventually fell asleep. When he woke up, his head felt a lot better. He felt more like a human now.

Guess I might as well get something done today, Dean thought with a sigh. He got up and brushed his teeth, feeling like his mouth was free of the animal that seemed to be growing on his tongue. 

One of the many things that Dean loved about owning a house was having a yard. When he was growing up, he had a very small yard in the front of their old house, but John never took care of it. And there were plenty of not so pleasant memories of him and John hashing it out in the front yard, and Dean was anxious to replace those memories with new, nice ones. So Dean absolutely lived for the smell of freshly cut grass, and for landscaping, and planting flowers, and for silently competing with all of his neighbors over who had the better lawn (Dean always won). Dean thought at the very least that mowing his lawn would make him feel better, if only for a little while.

Dean put on some dorky shorts and tennis shoes that he adamantly denied having to Sam, who subsequently pointed out that Dean couldn’t run in jeans. Dean, again, tried to forget the fact that he ever moved faster than a walk, as he walked out the front door.

When Dean opened the door, he came up short, almost falling over himself. On his doorstep, he found a black ball of fluff, that seemed to be curled up on itself. He leaned down, and saw that it was moving a little, breathing. So Dean placed his palm on the little guy, which promptly woke it up. It was a little balck cat. It lifted its head up and yawned and opened its eyes. The cat had these brilliant, deep blue eyes. Dean had never seen eyes that blue let alone on a cat. It was like staring into the depths of the mariana trench. Dean pet the cat a little, brushing its shoulder. The cat flinched suddenly, and Dean pulled his hand away. The cat stood up, but it held its paw, the left front one that Dean had just touched, close to its body. The paw looked like it had dried blood on it, and it also looked like it was twisted in a weird way.

It wasn’t so much that Dean didn’t like cats, it was more that he didn’t trust them. Dean read somewhere that the average housecat is the world’s most vicious predator, and they were the only ones that played with their food before they ate it. They had knives on their paws, and in their mouths. They could be perfectly content one moment and ripping your hand up the next. Dean just didn’t particularly like them, and he wouldn’t even if he weren’t terribly allergic to them. But screw him if Bella hadn’t magically turned him into a freaking animal person, and screw him if he couldn’t just leave this cat to suffer. 

Dean sighed and crouched down to pick up the little guy. He held the cat close to his chest, its injured paw pressed between them, and it's good front paw clutching at Dean’s left shoulder, its claws digging into his shirt. The feather-light cat settled in Dean’s grasp, sighing and curling closer into Dean’s firm chest.

Growing up as both a rambunctious boy, and with John as his father, Dean had seen more than his fair share of injuries. While Dean had never dealt with cat injuries, some simple googling showed him that their anatomy, at least in their limbs, was fairly similar. At least, they had the same general idea. 

Dean went up to the master bathroom to get his first aid kit that he had stocked himself and thought was way better than anything you could find at the store. He brought it down and began to work on the little kitty. After feeling the cat’s equivalent of a forearm, he determined that the radius and ulna, if that’s what they were called in cats, were both fractured. Dean went about setting the bones, causing the cat to flinch and yowl loudly. 

“Oh, hush you little baby. I’m helping you!” Dean growled at the cat, suddenly very upset that this little creature, who would surely leave him a sneezing mess for days to come, was being an ungrateful punk. It was also very hard for Dean to understand how such a cute, fuzzy cat could muster such an unimpressed look. 

“Well fine, fluffball. I’ll be gentile,” Dean said with a huge eye roll. The little cat gave a little harumph that was more reminiscent of a dog than a cat. Dean wrapped up the forearm, making a little splint so that hopefully the cat could move without being in pain. 

Dean had no idea what to do then. The wounds had been tended to, the cat didn’t seem to be in any large amount of pain, but Dean felt like he couldn’t very well abandon the little guy either. At some point, Dean had checked and determined that it was a little guy. 

“Well, little fella, I guess we’ll have to start by giving you a name, huh? How about,” Dean gave the cat a once over, taking him in, “Fluffy? Eh? I think that suits you quite nicely, Fluffy.” If a cat could get offended, then Fluffy sure as hell was offended that he had been given such a dumb name, and Dean almost rejoiced in that. 

Dean supposed that the next thing he ought to do was get the little guy some supplies. He also figured that maybe he could take Bella’s leftover food back to the pet store, since he wouldn’t have any use for it. His chest clenched a little at that, but he ignored the sensation and moved on. So he wrapped a towel into a little ball and put it in his front seat, and tucked the cat into this little nest. As he drove to the pet store that had become his pet store over the years, he tried very hard to not have deja vu. He felt eerily similar to how he felt when he took this same route with a little Bella in the passenger seat, and he tried not to focus on it.

Fluffy gave a little “mew?” and looked at Dean, cocking his head a little, and as hard as he might try, Dean couldn’t help but find it endearing. Dean placed his hand on the cat’s head, messing up its fur, until Fluffy batted his hand away. Dean felt his lips turn up and a chuckle rise in his chest for the first time in weeks. It was good.

The Impala rumbled to a stop in front of the pet store, and Dean shut the engine off, and grabbed Fluffy. He walked into the store, the bell above the door chiming.

“Dean! Long time no see! How have you been?” The woman greeted from her place behind the counter.

“Pamela! Good to see you, hun.”

“You didn’t answer my question: how have you been?” Pamela gave him a glare that made it look like she was staring deep into his soul.

Dean sighed, “I’ve been better. I had to put Bella down.”

“Oh Dean, I’m so sorry! That’s awful.”

“Yeah, well. Apparently the forces that be have decided that I needed another project, so I came for some help. Pamela, how do I take care of a cat?”

A huge smile broke out across Pamela’s face, and it got impossibly wider when Dean produced Fluffy from behind his back. And then it was deja vu all over again. Pamela was running around like a chicken with its head cut off, gathering the supplies that it takes to care for a cat. Dean was under the assumption that dogs were a lot of work, but then, he had forgotten that cats shit in a box and that he was the one that had to do the picking up. 

So Dean brought the rest of Bella’s food into the store, and came back out with two litter boxes, a huge box of cat litter, cat food, catnip, cat toys, scratching posts, and no scratch spray. Jesus, cats were a lot of work.

“Dean,” Pamela began, putting her hand on his shoulder, “I really am sorry about Bella. She was a sweet girl. But I hope that little Fluffy here does some good for you, and maybe then you can get back on your feet.”

“Thanks Pamela. I hope so, too,” Dean just gave a strained smile and a wave, heading back to the Impala.

Dean and Fluffy drove back to the house, but not before stopping at the grocery store and picking up all the allergy meds Dean could possibly need. When they got there, Dean set Fluffy up in a chair and started cat-proofing the house. He sprayed all his furniture with the anti-scratch spray. He set up a litter box in his bathroom, and another one in the downstairs bathroom. He set up a bowl with dry food and another with water on his kitchen counter, and he placed the toys and scratching post all around the living room.

Then Dean turned on the TV and watched as much “My Cat from Hell” as he could stand. And he learned kind of a lot from that weird Jackson guy that he couldn’t help but like. He started blinking at Fluffy, and it took almost no time at all for Fluffy to start blinking back at him. 

Again, Dean would never admit it, but he let Fluffy sleep in his bed that night. And he liked it. He liked how the little black (or upon closer inspection the really, really dark brown) cat curled up against his side and purred contentedly. Dean slept better than he had in weeks.

———

The next morning Dean woke to the strangest sensation. He felt something warm, wet, and rough touching his ear. He shook his head to get rid of the sensation, but it persisted. Finally, Dean opened his eyes, only to find Fluffy curled around his head, licking inside his ear.

“Come on, man! That’s just weird,” Dean practically yelled, sitting up abruptly in bed.

“Brrup?” Fluffy seemed to ask, looking upset that Dean’s earlobe was no longer between his teeth.

With a sigh, both man and cat got out of bed and went downstairs to see about getting some breakfast. Dean put Fluffy down on the counter, and the kitty started hobbling around on the smooth surface. He was watching the fuzzy guy eat for the first time when his phone rang.

Dean answered, “Sammy!” he basically yelled.

“Dean. You sound… good. What’s going on with you?”

“I got a cat,” Dean said with way too much pride.

“A cat? Dude you hate cats. Also you’re allergic. What is this? Is this about Bella?” Dean could hear the pity through the phone.

“No, this is not about Bella. This cat with a broken leg showed up at my door and I couldn’t just leave him there. So I helped him. You know, until he gets his feet under him again.” Dean walked over to his living room taking a seat, with Fluffy following right at his heels, and then curling up in his lap.

Sam blew a raspberry. “Whatever you say, man. As long as you’re okay.”

“Yeah, Sam. I’m okay.”

“Okay, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

On that note they hung up. Fluffy looked like he was going to be occupying Dean’s lap for the foreseeable future, so against his better judgement, Dean decided that he didn’t need coffee immediately. He turned on his TV and just watched reruns of whatever was on, and that was pretty much how the rest of his weekend went.

———

After Dean’s forced long weekend, he felt more desire to be at work than he had in a long time. He had actually enjoyed his time off, getting to know his new cat, and he felt ready to face everything again. So when he walked into the garage with a spring in his step, it was a far cry from the Dean that everyone had seen a few days ago.

Benny noticed it first. “Hey, brotha. Everything okay? You looked like you either got laid or committed murder last night.”

Dean threw his head back and laughed; this full-bellied laugh, and he looked like a wild man.

“No Benny. I haven’t had sex or killed anyone, but thanks for asking. No, I just had a good weekend. Is that a crime?” Dean asked, setting his things up for the day.

“It ain’t a crime ‘nless you’re bein’ an idjit. You on something, boy?” Bobby walked out of his office and eyed him suspiciously.

Dean wasn’t a piece of cake on a good day, and all of his coworkers expected this grieving process to go on for a little longer. But here he was, doing his job and whistling while he worked. Dean wasn’t one to whistle. People knew he was enjoying himself if he managed to not throw a bitch fit, but he was not an overly happy guy.

Unless, of course, he had just gotten laid or was drunk.

But that couldn’t be the case. Dean liked to kiss and tell, and he didn’t smell like booze, so no one could really blame Bobby or Benny for being suspicious about why he was suddenly doing so well.

But his mood kept up. Day after day, Dean would come in and make conversation and whistle his way through his shift. And night after night, he would go home to Fluffy, change his bandages, and spend quality time together. They would try out some of the dozens of toys that Dean had bought for him, but Fluffy just didn’t seem interested. Not that Dean thought he was depressed or anything; Fluffy loved playing with boxes and Dean’s shoe laces, but he wasn’t interested in the expensive toys that Dean had bought. Dean tried to be mad, he really did. But Fluffy was just too cute to stay mad at.

Dean found he really enjoyed having the cat. He liked coming home to unwind and play with him. He liked being able to talk to the cat about his coworkers, or about Sam. At this point, Sam was still the only person, besides Pamela, who knew about Fluffy, but he had never met the little guy. Sam was an animal person, but he still wasn’t extremely fond of cats.

“Oh, Fluffy,” Dean began one night, and the cat was watching basketball, oddly enough. “I don’t know what to do about Sammy.” Now Fluffy was watching him, his little head turned to one side.

“He’s worried about me. And I mean, I don’t blame him, I would be worried if I was in his spot. But I’m good. I’ve got you -”

“Mrup.”

“And I’m working. Things are good. I think that part of all this is Sammy wanting me to settle down. Ever since he met Jess he thinks that love is the cure to everything. Not that I disagree. But between his heart eyes and his pity I can barely speak to him. And I’m not really the settling down type, you know? Not that anybody needs to know this, but it's been several months since my last sexual escapade. Maybe my bachelor days are over. Anyway, I’m happy with where I am right now. What are you thinking, Fluff-man?”

Fluffy gave a little purr from deep in his chest, and then rolled over on his back, swatting at the finger that Dean pointed at him. When they played like this, Fluffy never used the claws that Dean was positive he had. No, Fluffy only used his claws when he was making biscuits and sitting on Dean’s lap, stabbing his thighs. When they were playing, Fluffy would only hit Dean with his little, adorable pink pads and Dean couldn’t help but smile at him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once upon a time I din't feel like doing research so I made up a bunch of stuff about familiars and put it in this chapter the end. Enjoy!

After about three weeks, Fluffy was basically a new cat. He was healing way more quickly than Dean would have thought. According to Google, it takes cats four to six weeks for their legs to heal, and Dean was ready for the whole six weeks. But in half of that time, Fluffy was running and jumping around putting weight on his paw, and yelling at Dean and smacking him in the face with his hurt paw.

“I know, baby. I know it's annoying,” Dean said one Friday night as Fluffy sat on his lap and repeatedly slapped him in the chest with the hurt paw, “but we gotta keep it on so you can get better. Please be patient with me, bud.”

Fluffy huffed and laid his head down on Dean’s knee. Dean turned on Dr. Sexy, MD and started stroking Fluffy gently. In a matter of minutes, Fluffy was passed out and purring sweetly. Dean ended up falling asleep on his couch that night.

———

The next morning Dean woke up with a cold lap and a crick in his neck. He hadn’t slept on a couch willingly in years, let alone when he had been sitting upright. He stood up and walked to the kitchen, running a hand over his stubble that he decided was past due for a trim. 

Dean was turning on the coffee machine when he noticed that there was some gauze laid out on the floor. I swear I threw Fluffy’s old gauze away, he thought absently, as he picked it up. He poured the grounds into the machine and turned it on. He was making his way to the bathroom, when he saw two sticks laying in the way.

Those look like the ones I used for Fluffy’s splint. Dean stared at it for a moment longer, before he shrugged it off and went to the bathroom. Maybe the cat had just gotten fed up with the splint and decided it was time to be rid of it. If he’s walking around, then everything should be fine. He seems like a smart cat.

With that, Dean went about his morning. He drank some coffee, made himself some eggs, and watched the news. He exchanged a few annoying texts with Sammy, and a half hour later, he was bored. Dean was the kind of guy who needed constant stimulation, and this morning was not providing that for him. He went to the kitchen counter, and filled up Fluffy’s food and water bowls.

“Prrrrr! Here kitty kitty kitty!” he called, his voice ringing throughout the house. He stood there for a while, waiting to hear the tell-tale sound of little kitty feet padding towards him. Usually Fluffy came sprinting from wherever he had been hiding to get some food, but Dean heard nothing.

“Fluffy? Where are you, buddy?” He called in a sing-song voice, as he started to systematically search the house, his anxiety making itself known in the center of his chest. Chances are, everything is fine. Fluffy probably just found a nice patch of sunlight and decided to take a nap. Maybe he’s playing. You’re overreacting, Dean. Snap out of it!

Dean kept trying to convince himself of that as he walked upstairs to his room. Dean decided that Fluffy was probably curled up in a pile of his dirty clothes.

What Dean did not expect to find, was a very handsome, very naked man standing at the foot of his bed.

“Who the hell are you?” Deal yelled at the man.

The man, who was just shorter than Dean and built like the most attractive tank he had ever seen, just raised his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “I do not mean to intrude,” he began his voice sounding like he had gargled broken glass. “I am who you called Fluffy. Which, I might add, is a very unoriginal name.”

“Yeah right, crazy. Fluffy is my cat! You, are very much a human man. Now, how the fuck did you get in my house?” Dean yelled

“Dean,” the man just looked very unamused, “I am the cat. I was already in your house, so it wasn’t a matter of getting in.”

Dean huffed. He figured, there were only two options here. The first, and the far more likely, is that the man is crazy and Dean needs to call the cops. The second, was that this man was telling him the truth and that Dean should hear him out. Dean decided that the only way to figure out which was which was to let the man speak. He thought about it for another moment, and pulled his phone out of his pocket.

“Alright,” he began, “I’ll listen to whatever bullshit you have to say, but the moment you try something, I’m calling the cops!”

“That is valid,” Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome said. “Let us start from the beginning. My name is Castiel.”

“Castiel? That’s a weird name.”

Castiel glared at him. “Dean. For the first time in this relationship, this is not a one-sided conversation. Stop monologuing and let me speak!” Now it was Dean’s turn to hold his hands up in surrender. “I am a familiar. Do you know what that means?” Dean shook his head. 

“I am the companion of witches. I keep them company, and I can switch between my human and my animal form. I was-” Castiel stopped speaking when Dean raised his hand like a small child who needed attention from his teacher. Castiel gave him a bored, but expectant look.

“If you can switch freely between your animal and human form, then why did you spend three weeks being my cat?”

“Dean, if you would just let me talk, I would tell you; I was getting to that part.”

Dean rolled his eyes, and gestured for Castiel to continue.

“Thank you,” Castiel sighed. “My arm was broken. I cannot change forms when I am injured. I got run over by some stupid kid on a bike in front of your house. I came to your door and slept there, planning on just waiting until I was healed enough to switch into this form and get some proper care. But then the next morning you opened the door, and you found me. You took care of me, patched me up, and brought me in. You were so sweet to me, and you seemed like you could use some company. I felt like I was taking advantage of you, with you telling me everything about your life, and me charading around like some innocent, ignorant animal. So, I promised that the second that I could change back to this, I would so that I could explain myself to you. There you have it.”

Dean sat and thought about it for a moment. He didn’t really feel like he could make heads or tails of the situation. He guessed that this man wasn’t going to hurt him, but that was more of a hunch than anything else. Dean decided to look the man over for a second. Castiel was an inch or two shorter than Dean himself, but the guy was built. His torso and pecks were sculpted like some kind of Greek god. His shoulders were broad and his arms were thick. His legs were like tree trunks, and what was between them wasn’t too shabby either. His hair was the same dark brown color as Fluffy’s fur, and it looked like someone had been running their fingers through it.

“Okay,” Dean said warily, “but I have a couple of questions.” Castiel just looked at him expectantly, so Dean continued. “Why me? I mean, I’m not a witch.”

“At first, it was purely convenience. Your house was the closest one, and you took me in. But after a little while of being with you, I felt as though we were kindred spirits; like we were bonded. We familiars are told what to look for when we find a witch that we were meant to be with. All the things I was told to look for, I found in you. That is why I stayed.”

“We are bonded?” Dean asked, wondering if coffee or booze would be better right about now.

Castiel sighed. “I think so. However, this is a two way street, so if you don’t like it, then I won’t stay in your life.”

Dean swore he hadn’t done this much contemplating in a long time. What the hell was he supposed to say? Oh yes, this handsome man claims that he is a cat and that he is bonded to Dean. Makes perfect sense, right? Wrong. But Dean couldn’t deny that he also felt a certain pull towards this Castiel. There was a chance that this was just lust, but Dean felt like it was more than that; deeper than that.

“I gotta be honest, man. This is all pretty weird,” Dean said, giving Castiel a skeptical look. Castiel deflated a little bit. “But for some reason, I don’t want to run for the hills. So what’re you thinking? What do we do now?”

Castiel looked very relieved at that shaky declaration from Dean. “Well,” he began, “why don’t I get out of here for a while, let you clear your head, and then we can meet up later, maybe get some dinner and drinks, and talk for a bit?”

“Sure,” Dean answered, “how does the Roadhouse at 6 sound?”

“Perfect,” Castiel almost smiled. “And Dean?” he asked.

“Yeah?”

“Can I borrow some clothes?”

Dean chuckled because of course Castiel couldn’t just walk around town naked. Dean felt sort of weird about giving this naked man his clothes, but he shook it off, and just went with it. He grabbed a clean pair of boxers that he hadn’t worn very often, and tossed them over to Castiel. Then he looked through his jeans, finding a pair that he didn’t think would be too huge on him. Then he threw Castiel an old, faded AC/DC shirt, it was one of Dean’s favorites. He threw the clothes towards Castiel, and then dug through his closet until he found an old pair of sandals he could loan him. His toes might get a bit chilled, but these were the only extras he had. Anyway, it wasn’t like there was snow on the ground.

Castiel got dressed and walked to the door, Dean following close behind. They said their goodbyes, promising to meet up later that night, and then Castiel left. He just walked off into the street like he knew exactly where he was going. 

And then Dean was alone. He was alone in an empty house for the first time in weeks, and he didn’t know what to do with himself. So Dean embraced his obsessive side and cleaned the whole house. He got rid of all of Bella’s things, except for her food bowl and her bed; he couldn’t get rid of those. 

He vacuumed the whole house, did some laundry, scrubbed the toilets, and cleaned that cat litter. Good lord, I’m cleaning up a cat-man’s shit right now. What is my life? And that brought him to all of Fluffy’s -- or Castiel’s rather -- stuff that he had no idea what to do with. Was he supposed to keep pretending that he had a cat when in reality it was a grown-ass man?

Dean decided to leave the cat stuff for now, since he didn’t know what else to do. He finished cleaning the house, even cleaning the oven, which he hated, but then he had three hours still left. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He sat down and put on more Dr. Sexy, MD because his life basically revolved around that show. 

After a half an hour of still feeling restless, he decided to call Charlie. She picked up on the third ring.

“‘Sup bitch?” she said by way of a greeting.

“Hey Charles. What’re you up to?”

“I’m up to fuck all, thats what! What about you, Dean-o?” she answered with a sigh.

“Same here. I am actually killing time before I go out with someone. I’m not really sure what it is, but now that I’m sitting here, it's starting to feel like a date and I don’t know what to do with myself.” Dean released all of that in one big breath, like a sigh of relief that it was finally said.

“Oooooh! Dean-o is going on a daaaaaate!” Charlie sang far too loudly.

“Oh shut up bitch! It might not even be a date. That's why I’m calling you, so you can tell me if it's a date.”

“Okay shoot. Tell me all the deets.”

“Okay so there’s this guy,” Dean began. Charlie was the only one who knew of his not-so-heterosexual tendencies, and he had no problem telling her about that. “And I guess we’ve known each other for a while, although he wasn’t who I thought he was. Anyway, we met face-to-face this morning, and he explained everything to me. And, okay, he’s hot as fuck, but that’s not important. Then he said we should get together tonight and talk more. I said okay. So? Is that a date?”

“Well, it sounds like a date with a psychopath, but a date nonetheless.” She said, letting out a nervous giggle. “How did you guys meet, anyway?”

Fuck. “Uh, we met online. A chat room. And I don’t think he’s a psychopath.”

“Ah, you don’t think? That’s reassuring. Well if you don’t think he’s cuckoo crazy-town, then I’m sure it’ll be fine. Now, instead of worrying your pretty little head, why don’t you do something productive? You could shower, and then you could do your hair, you could do some manscaping, you-”

“Jesus, Charles! You don’t have a right to talk about my ‘manscaping’ or whatever, especially considering the fact that you don’t even play for my team.”

“Well you called me, man. I’m just trying to help.”

“Hey Charlie? Thanks. Love you, dude.”

“Yeah I know you do.” She blew him a kiss over the phone, which Dean returned, and then hung up. 

Dean was very thorough in the shower. He also just took his time, trying to relax a little bit. It worked, to some extent, but he was still insanely tense. He got out, took a little longer doing his hair than he normally would. He put on his nice cologne and went to find his best jeans, the ones that hugged his butt just right. Then he found a tight, black henley that he thought made him look hot.

God, why am I trying so hard? This guy has seen me hungover and in my underwear. Also, it's not like he said this was a date! You’re just horny and lonely so you’re making things up. Pull it together Dean!

And with that sorry excuse for a pep talk, Dean hopped in Baby and drove to the Roadhouse. He cranked the music up louder than he normally did, and he ended up making it over to the diner earlier than he was expecting to.

He walked in and saw Jo standing at the hostess stand.

“Dean. How ya doin’?” she grinned.

“Hey Jo. I’m not too shabby. Can I get a table for two please?”

“Why?” she asked, wiggling her eyebrows. “You got a hot date?”

“No Jo, it's not like that.” Dean replied, rolling his eyes. “I’m just having a chat with a friend. Calm down.” Jo slapped him lightly on the arm with a menu, and brought him to a secluded corner of the diner. Dean sat with his back to the wall so that he was visible from the entrance.

A couple minutes later, the bell above the door chimed, and Dean looked up. There stood Castiel, looking like he had just rolled out of bed, looking around. He caught Dean’s eye, and Castiel’s whole face lit up, even though he didn’t actually smile.

“Dean!” Castiel greeted, sitting down across from him.

“Hey, man. How’s it going?”

“Things are fine. How are you?”

“Fine,” Dean answered. And then things got awkward. How was Dean supposed to make conversation with his cat? And what did he want from this conversation? Did he want to get in the guy’s pants, or did he want to get the guy out of his life as quickly as possible?

Before Dean could come to any conclusions, Castiel broke the tension. “So, Dean, you are a mechanic?”

“Yeah I am. How’d you know?”

Castiel looked at him like he was dense. “Dean. You’ve told me basically everything about your life. You have started multiple conversations with ‘so you know I’m a mechanic, right?’”

Dean laughed. “Good point. So what do you do?”

“Well, I mostly sell the odd piece of my artwork. Paintings, or a tattoo template. I do it just enough to pay the bills, but not too much to become super noticeable, you know?” Castiel explained, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Wow, Cas. That’s really impressive.” Dean smiled.

“‘Cas’?” The corner of his lips turned up. “I like it.”

Dean made a half-assed attempt at a smile, and then his eyes fell to the table between them. At that point, Jo came over and took their orders. Dean got a beer and a double bacon cheeseburger with extra onions. Cas just smiled and got the same.

The rest of the night was nice. They just made casual conversation. Castiel was 35, and had lived in the area most of his life. And Dean came to the conclusion that there was essentially no chance that Cas was a psycho killer.

They settled into a casual silence, waiting for the apple pie to come. Both men were leaned across the table, noses inches from one another

Dean eventually broke the silence. “So, can I ask you about this whole familiar thing?”

“Of course,” Cas smiled, “ask away.”

“So what do familiars do? I’m kind of having a hard time understanding.”

“Of course,” Cas steepled his fingers on the table, and looked like he had rehearsed this speech a thousand times. “Familiars were created by a witch a long long time ago. She was probably the most powerful witch to have ever lived. Anyway, she lived for about three hundred years. During that time, she got lonely, as we all probably would have. She desperately desired company, but she wasn’t sure how to get what she needed.

“As the story goes, she was walking through her village one day, when a very young boy caught her eye. She felt a pull towards him that she couldn’t explain. She went and sat next to him, and they struck up conversation very easily. I don’t remember the witch’s name, but the boy’s name was Oscar.

“So anyway, the witch somehow got the boy to come back to her house with her. The witch had decided that Oscar was going to be her companion and she was going to do everything in her power to keep him. The problem with her plan was that Oscar was a human and he had no desire to become a witch. You see, anti-aging spells are mostly used by witches and the spell gets its magic from that of the witch. Obviously that wouldn’t work for Oscar, so the witch had to improvise.

“She tried many spells of her own invention on Oscar, and he soon became weary of the process. He told the witch that she could try one more spell on him, and then he was done with the experiments, regardless of the outcome. The witch worked very hard on that spell, and she came up with the best she had.

“She ended up casting a spell that originated from an animal melding spell. She was hoping to draw its increased life span from the spell, but instead she made Oscar so that he could turn into a bird, and have the senses of one.

“She was very upset that her attempts failed, but she kept her promise anyway. She stopped the experiments, and even stopped practicing magic, wanting to live the rest of her life with Oscar. They had children, who inherited this ability to turn into animals. Because they also had witch genes, they could help a witch to harness and focus their magic. And thus began the line of the familiars; we can all be traced back to one Oscar McCloud.” Cas sat back, waiting for Dean to respond.

Dean took a moment to process his thoughts. He was never a history or geneology guy or whatever, but the thought that all familiars could be traced back to this one story was fascinating to him.

“Wow, that is something,” Dean said quietly. Then, louder, “Are all the relationships sexual? Like, between the familiar and the witch.”

“No. Many are, because once a familiar and a witch are committed to each other, then a very profound bond is formed, and this often leads to a sexual relationship, but not all are like that. Every bond is unique.”

“Are familiars allowed to have those kinds of relationships with people who aren’t witches?”

Cas thought for a long moment before answering. “It depends on who you ask,” he finally said. “If you were to ask a conservative man like my father, he would say ‘no’. He believes that the witch and Oscar had created Familiars with the intent that they only serve witches, and thus they should serve no other purpose. If you were to ask me, on the other hand, I would say that the witch and Oscar were just people who were looking for companionship. If that is all the desired, then we should be able to find the same, no matter who it is with.”

“Your dad sounds like a piece of work,” Dean said.

Cas scoffed, “You have no idea. He was the worst witch I’ve ever met. He did quite a number on a couple of my siblings. I managed to not get too brainwashed, thankfully.” 

Dean sat for a moment before he spoke. He admired the way Cas could just speak about his father in such an easy way, even if he was such an awful man. Well, Dean though, I’ve been working on being more honest.

“Yeah,” Dean said, shooting for casual and missing by a mile, “my dad was rough too.”

Cas gave Dean a sympathetic smile and picked up his beer.

“Well, here is to rough dads and not turning out like them” The men clinked their drinks together, and Dean felt reassured at the way Cas had taken his admission.

The two men sat in silence for a little while more, lost in their own thoughts. “Dean,” Cas began, his voice quieter than it had been all night.

“Yeah, Cas?” Dean smiled easily.

“I really like you, and I really enjoy your company. But I feel as though I am a bit of an advantage, seeing as how we’ve interacted before today. Anyway, I was wondering what you were thinking about all of this.”

Dean took a moment to collect his thoughts before responding, wanting to articulate his thoughts. “Well, don’t get me wrong, this is hella weird. But I like you too, Cas. I’m not entirely sure where you are wanting to go from here, but I’m having a helluva good time.”

“Okay,” Cas smiled, with his teeth and everything, “Dean, would you like to go on a date with me?”

“Wouldn’t this count as our first date? I did dress to impress,” Dean winked, suddenly feeling light and flirty, even after the almost emotional talk they had just had.

“Sure, if you’d like.” Cas reached across the table and took Dean’s hand in his own. Dean gave a little squeeze in response, and they sat in companionable silence again.

When Jo brought them their pie, she gave them a knowing look.

“‘Not a date’ my ass,” she whispered as she turned around. Dean flipped her off, causing Cas to laugh. They ate in silence for a while, never letting go of the other’s hand.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said, suddenly remembering something, “do you have a place to stay?”

“Oh,” Cas looked down at the table between them, “I had been staying with my older brother, Michael, until I found you. But, I’m not sure if I can do that anymore.”

Dean furrowed his brow. “Why wouldn’t you be able to go back?” Cas hunched his shoulders, and aggressively avoided eye contact. “Hey hey hey. Everything is okay, Cas. We don’t have to talk about it yet if you don’t want to. You can come stay with me for now and we can figure the rest out later.”

Cas smiled at Dean. “Thank you. Shall we go?” Dean nodded and smiled reassuringly.

Dean pulled out his wallet and threw some cash on the counter, before standing up and waiting for Cas to follow.

They walked out to the Impala, and Cas admired her for the first time as a human. Dean appreciated the fact that Cas liked her, and that just gave Cas all the more points in Dean’s book.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alas, this is the last chapter. It does contain smut, so watch out ;) I'm pretty new to writing smut, so please let me know what you think.

They rode back to Dean’s house in comfortable quiet. At one point, Cas laid his hand on the seat between them with his palm up (like he was freaking 12) and Dean quickly grabbed it.

When they got to the house, Dean unlocked and opened the door, let Cas in and then shut it. Then there was only Cas, everywhere. His tongue was in Dean’s mouth, and his hands were in Dean’s hair. Cas moved so that Dean was pressed between him and the wall. Cas kicked Dean’s ankles apart and then slotted his knee right between Dean’s legs, which helped get Dean’s blood flowing in the right direction.

Cas finally relinquished his lips and started sucking on the bolt of Dean’s jaw.

“Bed,” Dean barely managed to gasp. Cas released Dean’s neck, and they both sprinted up to the master bedroom.

When they finally got there, Cas slammed Dean against the wall of his bedroom, crowding into his space, and pinning him with his left forearm. Cas rubbed his nose against Dean’s jaw, then down to the sensitive spot right below his left ear, inhaling deeply. Cas sighed contentedly, and then started mouthing at Dean’s neck. 

Dean was achingly hard at this point and Cas had barely even touched him. Dean wasn’t fighting against the forearm on his chest pinning him to the wall. He just sat there, panting, as Cas kissed and licked him, stubbornly avoiding his lips. Cas dragged his finger down Dean’s chest and abdomen painfully slowly until he got to the hem of Dean’s henley. Cas made eye contact, raising a full eyebrow, before he ripped it off, and then replaced his arm across Dean’s chest. 

Cas lavved at the moisture gathering between Dean’s collar bone, before nibbling at the right one.

“Goddamn, Cas. Let’s move this along, huh?” Dean panted, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. Cas smiled and grabbed Dean’s shoulders, and he spun and threw Dean down on the bed. He started kissing his way down Dean’s chest, stopping to pay special attention to each and every freckle and every single scar. He worked his way over to Dean’s left nipple, pulling the soft flesh between his teeth, biting. He then ran his tongue lightly over the abused flesh, wiping some of the pain away. Cas then gave the same treatment to the other nipple.

Once he seemed satisfied with that treatment, Cas continued his journey down Dean’s abdomen. He lightly put his tongue in Dean’s belly button and brushed his scorching hot fingers over Dean’s side. Dean tried to stifle what was most certainly not a giggle, as he didn’t want to ruin the mood with an impromptu tickle fest.

Cas made it down to the waistband of Dean’s jeans. He nibbled at the skin just above the jeans while he undid the button and pulled down the zipper. Then, Cas ghosted his hot breath over Dean’s inner thighs and pulled his boots off, throwing them across the room. Dean’s socks came next. And then, before Dean knew what was happening, Cas ripped his pants right off him. Dean was just sitting there in his black boxer-briefs, feeling like a piece of meat as Cas appraised him.

And, lord, did Cas look his fill. Cas had this predatory look in his eyes, and a grin to match. Dean looked away, suddenly feeling all self-conscious, with all the attention focussed solely on him. No one ever looked at him like that, and he couldn’t tell if he liked it or not.

“Dean,” Cas positively growled, sending a shiver down Dean’s spine, “look at me.” Dean flicked his eyes up to Cas, who still had that delicious look on his face. Cas fingered the hem around his neck. He slowly let his fingers trail across his collar bones, slowly, until he reached his shoulders. He traced his fingers along his traps until he reached the back of his shirt. He stood there, his fingers waiting on his shirt and making intense eye contact with Dean, and Dean was barely breathing.

Cas suddenly ripped the shirt off and threw it on the floor near Dean’s things. Dean had looked at Cas earlier that morning when Cas had first shown up this way, but damn. If Dean believed in God, then Cas would be His finest creation. The man was not built like the male models with the purely aesthetic muscles, but he screamed pure power. His arms were freaking logs, and his pecks looked hard as rocks. Dean’s mouth watered a little.

Cas ran his fingers down his chest, drawing attention to the freckle above his nipple, the mole in the middle of his abdomen, and some of the little scars covering his skin. His fingers came to rest on his hip bones that could slice through steel like it was butter. Cas’ fingers danced across the top of his pants, coming to rest on the button of his jeans. Cas sucked his lip in between his teeth, and Dean subconsciously copied the movement. 

Cas popped the button of his jeans, and grabbed his zipper. He pulled his zipper down and Dean could hear when the zipper separated every. Single. Set. Of teeth. Good lord, Cas was going to kill him.

When Cas finally pulled his zipper all the way down, he ripped his pants off in one quick, fluid motion, causing Dean to jump slightly. Cas busied himself getting naked, and Dean let himself get an eyeful. If Dean thought Cas’ arms were big, then his legs were something else. Dean could swear that every muscle in the human leg was full and defined on Cas. And his skin, looking so silky smooth stretched over the taut muscle, making Dean’s mouth suddenly water.

Cas got on all fours and crawled over Dean. Every muscle from Cas’ back down his arms and down to his toes, rippled as he stalked Dean, the predatory look even more prominent in his eye. Dean thought that Cas looked more like an animal in this form than he had all night. And Dean was not opposed to the feeling he got in his stomach because of that look.

One moment, Dean was sprawled on his back feeling vulnerable, with Cas towering over him, and then Cas was on him. Everything was lips and teeth and tongue. The kiss was messy and sloppy, but fuck him if it wasn’t the best kiss he’d ever had. Cas tasted of remnants of the pie that they’d shared earlier. Cas was controlling the kiss, hands everywhere, tongue pushing in and out of Dean’s mouth. Cas brought his hands up to Dean’s shoulders, pinning him down, and he pulled off the kiss.

“Fuck,” Cas panted “Dean, you are so beautiful. Look at you, all spread and waiting for me.” Cas’ hooded eyes appraised him, before he asked Dean for the lube. Dean scrambled, suddenly feeling like his limbs were all the wrong size. He handed the bottle to Cas, and Cas looked at the label like it was the most interesting thing in the world. 

“On your stomach,” Cas said, still looking at the bottle. Dean flipped over on his stomach in a hurry, pillowing his head on his forearms.

“Hand me a pillow?” How was Cas so casual? It was clear that he wanted this as much as Dean, but he seemed to be in no rush. Dean reached blindly out to his side and grabbed the closest pillow he could find, and threw it back at Cas. He heard rustling of the sheets and felt the weight of the bed shift, and suddenly he was very aware of his arousal that was demanding his attention.

Cas reached under Dean and tapped his hip bone, which Dean took as a direction to lift his hips. He did so, and Cas slipped the pillow under him and began massaging his ass cheeks. Cas kneaded the flesh under his fingers, moving the thick muscles. He moved Dean’s cheeks apart, exposing his furrowed hole to the air. Again, Cas looked his fill; Dean could feel Cas’ eyes boring into him. 

Dean started to squirm under the intense stare. He hated the attention.

“Hey Cas?” he asked after what felt like an eternity.

“Hmmm?” 

“Whatcha doin’ back there? Not that I don’t -- Ahhhh!” Dean felt something warm and wet at his entrance. Cas was laving at his hole, just little kitten licks. His tongue was soft, warm, and wet. Everytime he moved away, or paused, the cold air caused Dean to clench his muscles. Then Cas started thrusting his tongue in and out of Dean, his thick hard muscle making flesh give way.

And Dean was moving. He made tiny thrusts back, fucking himself on Cas’ tongue. And Cas was pushing deeper, swirling his tongue around making Dean’s flesh bend to his will. And then there was a slick finger pushing in alongside the slick muscle.

“Hgnn. Cas!” Dean was thrusting back harder now, thoroughly enjoying the treatment Cas was giving him. He was pushing back, wanting friction on his cock, wanting a bigger stretch, wanting something! Cas slammed his forearm on Dean’s lower back, pinning Dean down, as he thrust a second finger in with the other two. Cas was suddenly a very eager participant, in that he was shoving his tongue and fingers in and out of Dean’s hole.

Dean, meanwhile, was moaning like a wanton whore. He tried with all his might to thrust back on Cas, but he could do little more than lay there. Cas’ arm was pinning him with seemingly superhuman strength, and his mouth must have been from another planet.

“Fuck, C-cas! I-I’m ready, jus-just fuck me already!” Dean most certainly did not whine. He felt Cas’ lips pull back in a grin, and then Dean shivered from the cold air meeting his ass. He laid there and tried not to move, but his now empty hole felt uncomfortable, and his thus untouched length reminded him of its presence. He groaned like a petulant child. 

Dean could hear Cas shuffling around behind him, and he was hyper-aware of his every move. Even so, Dean felt like he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what Cas was doing. Dean was getting impatient and was about to yell at Cas, when Cas roughly grabbed Dean’s hips and slammed into him in one fluid motion.

“Huuuuung! Cas, fuck!” Dean rose up on his hands and thrusted back onto Cas’ long, fat length. Dean’s entrence burned like he’d been lit on fire, but fuck, Dean loved it. He could feel every smooth, hot length, and he felt almost too full, like he would explode. Cas slammed his hand down on Dean’s shoulders, forcing his face down in the pillows, while Cas’ other hand gripped his hip in a bruising hold. Cas moved his hand to the back of Dean’s neck. Dean could barely breathe, as his nose was crushed against the pillow underneath him, and the wind was knocked out of him with every thrust.

Cas was superhuman. He was slamming into Dean with the full force of his body with every thrust, and he just seemed to be going faster all the time. Dean would have bruises all around the back of his neck for days to come, with the grip that Cas had.

Dean hurt everywhere. His neck hurt from Cas’ fingers, his shoulders hurt from supporting his weight, his prostate ached from being so desperate for Cas to hit it, and his cock hurt from lack of attention. Cas continued his harsh abuse of Dean’s prostate, hitting it with every other thrust, and soon Dean was shaking everywhere.

“Hnnnng. Fuck, Cas! I-I’m so close! P-please -- jus please!” Dean was crying, whimpering with every thrust, Cas let go of Dean’s neck, and wrapped his fist around Dean’s aching dick. He gripped it hard, and started roughly jerking him off in time to his thrusts. Dean whined and moaned. He babbled nonsense, begging, for what he didn’t know.

“God, Dean. You are so beautiful. Such a good, pretty boy. Fuck you’re so tight around me,” Cas just started rambling, punctuating every word with a thrust that was harder that the last. He was pulling on Dean’s cock, twisting his wrist on the upstroke, running his thumb over the slit before the downstroke. “You’re so good for me, Dean.”

And then Dean was coming. He screamed with the intensity of his orgasm, spilling on his sheets under him. Dean’s vision whited out, and all strength left him. He collapsed on the bed, and just rode out his orgasm.

Cas continued to thrust into Dean, long after Dean had finished. Dean just laid there, flat on his stomach, and let Cas roughly fuck into him. Cas had both his hands on Dean’s shoulders, his chest pressed into Dean’s back, and was plowing into him, using him thoroughly, and brushing over his prostate until it was over sensitive.

“Ugh, you’re such a good whore. Taking it like a good slut. Fuck, look at you, so pliant and obediant under me. I’m gonna pump you so full,” Cas was practically screaming as he drilled into Dean, harder and faster than ever before.

“Yes, Cas, fuck. Fuck me hard, use me. Fill me up.” And then Cas was spilling into Dean. Cas bit down hard on the junction of Dean’s shoulder and neck. Dean just laid there, letting Cas grind into him as he rode out his orgasm. When Cas was thoroughly spent, he just laid on top of Dean, panting and letting his dick soffen.

Dean felt good. His muscles ached pleasantly, his ass was open and very sore and still so full. Cas’ weight was a grounding feeling, heavy and comforting.

Cas began to move around a few minutes later. First, it was just that Cas became conscious of his breathing and began to slow it down, and he made soft sighing noises into Dean’s neck. Then he pried his teeth from Dean’s shoulder. He closed his mouth and worked out his jaw, then he started lapping at the bloodied mark on his shoulder. Dean sighed, arching into the sensation of a warm tongue, tending to him.

“I’m sorry about that, Dean. I really didn’t mean to, it just happened. I’ll take care of it, I’ll disinfect it, and clean it, and --” Cas began to climb off of Dean, suddenly in a panic. He was stopped by delicate fingers encircling his wrist.

“Cas, hey. It’s okay, really. I, um,” Dean looked down at his lap and ran his free hand through his hair, “I kinda liked it. And I’d kinda like for you to lay back down with me.” Dean was grateful that the lights were still dim so that Cas couldn’t see the color in his face.

“Really? Are you sure?” Cas looked at Dean from under his long lashes, and Dean wondered how this shy little creature had fucked him into oblivion mere moments ago. Dean gave a half-hearted smirk in Cas’ direction.

“Yeah. Lets have some post-coiltal cuddling while your come dries in my ass so that I have something to do in the shower later,” the last part came out as a chuckle. Cas’ eyes lit up at that and he threw himself back on the bed. Here was the animalistic behavior from Cas, when he grabbed Dean’s hips, and forcefully spread his legs.

“Wow. Read for round two already? I might need a couple more minutes before I’m ready.” Cas slapped his ass lightly at that.

“Shut up, silly. I want to see the come dripping out of your ass. It makes me feel good.” Cas positioned himself, laying calmly behind Dean and just staring at his butt.

“Okay, you big dork,” Dean grinned.

“Shut up,” Cas was quiet and then “was it really okay? Are you okay?”

Dean rolled his eyes, “Yeah, Cas. That was awesome. Hell, that was the best sex of my life. I wouldn’t be too upset if we did it again.” Cas ran his finger over Dean’s perineum, scooping some come on his index finger and then bringing it to his lips.

“Okay.”

“And,” Dean continued as Cas kept playing with the come dripping out of Dean’s asshole, “I also wouldn’t be too upset if we started a thing. I know it’s fast, and you don’t even have a place to stay, but I’d like to give this a try.”

Cas smiled at that. “I would like that Dean.”

Cas crawled up and laid on the pillows next to Dean. Dean rested his head on Cas’ chest and threw his leg over the familiar. The two men fell asleep like that, curled together and perfectly sated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who read this and to anyone who left comments and kudos! You have my heart and my eternal friendship and I thank you greatly. 
> 
> Come find me on Tumblr @I-know-like-four-things

**Author's Note:**

> A comment or a kudos means you win my friendship forever!


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